Page 45 of Savage Reckoning
His mouth gentles, and I think for one moment he’s going to let me go. He doesn’t. He slants his head, deepens the connection somehow, caressing my lips with his until muscle memory takes over and I part for him. He takes no persuading to push his advantage. His tongue probes my mouth, teasing, tangling, tasting.
I go still, because, why the hell not? Fighting is futile.
No, my head protests. This is not right. You need to stop this.
But the rest of me isn’t listening. The rest of me is lapping this up, quite literally.
My tongue curls around his. I arch my body, press my breasts to the hard planes of his chest. My nipples swell into points, tender and aching, rubbing against the fabric of my cotton blouse.
His vicelike grip on my wrists loosens. I’m free, but I don’t resume my attack. Instead, my fingers are in his hair, raking through the dark strands, once again finding the silkiness I used to adore.
He breaks the kiss, raises his head to murmur something.
I don’t hear. “What…?”
“Bedroom?” he repeats.
“Through there.”
He’s on his feet and lifting me as though I weigh nothing. Three strides are enough to cross my living room, and three more bring us to the foot of my bed, still rumpled from my nap earlier. He tumbles the pair of us onto it.
Now’s my chance. He’s no longer pinning me down. I could roll away and call a halt to this madness. That’s what I should do. Definitely.
Instead, I watch, mesmerised, while he removes his jacket, then his shirt. The tattoos I admired at the Richmond are displayed for me again. I reach for the white dove on his chest, unaccountably drawn to that image. His body shudders under my touch.
“Megan…” he rasps.
I cover his mouth with my fingers. “Don’t. Don’t talk now. Not yet.”
His answer is to take my fingertip between his lips and suck on it.
I fall back onto the mattress, my eyes on his. We neither of us break eye contact while he unbuttons my blouse and spreads the two sides wide, then tugs the lacy cup of my bra down to release my breast.
His eyes narrow. His slate-grey irises darken. He leans forward to flick my nipple with the tip of his tongue. “So beautiful,” he murmurs. “I never forgot…”
I writhe when he takes the taut bud in his mouth and sucks. I squirm when he deepens the suction, sending a heady pulse of pure sensation straight to my clit.
His deft fingers undo the button on my practical work pants. He slides them down my hips, and I wriggle helpfully. I can’t get naked fast enough. When he releases my nipple long enough to push my trousers right off, I slide out of the blouse and sit up to unhook my bra.
His lop-sided grin is positively sinful. I don’t care. The years melt away, and I’m back in my quarters in Fort Carson. It’s as though the intervening years never happened. I flop back down, waiting.
He doesn’t waste any time. I’m glad. It’s as though we’re both frantic, caught up in a tsunami of frustrated lust, the dam only now breaking to consume the pair of us. He sheds his jeans and boots and joins me on the bed, taking my mouth with his all over again.
I shove him onto his back, and he lets me. I go with him. I’m on top now, kissing him as fiercely as he kissed me earlier. I straddle him, relishing the sensuous feel of his solid, toned abdomen scraping against my wet pussy.
“Jesus,” he moans and flings me back onto the mattress. “Christ, I’ve missed you.”
I missed you, too. I told myself I didn’t, but it wasn’t true. I never stopped longing for you. For this…
“Open for me, honey.”
I spread my thighs wide, and he settles between them. The head of his cock is at my entrance. I raise my hips, seeking him.
“Wait,” he murmurs and props himself on one elbow.
I let out a mewling complaint, even though I know he’s only taking the time to unroll a condom over his length. That accomplished, he positions himself again in readiness, then drives forward in one long, smooth stroke.
I arch, cry out at the sudden fullness. It’s been a long time, so long. Too long.